A summer gale, and two
streamers livid against the wan.
I am supposed to know
how to comb the flotsam from
the foam, with hands steady
or surly. Perhaps I used to.
Antithesis, like a sordid coin
against conch. Flare or not.
Someone to wring
my hair like seaweed, unafraid
of the stains. I stand on loam
going piecemeal, with each
clockwise heave. When I spit
I, too, become the ocean.




Ariella Carmell is a student at the University of Chicago whose writings can be found in Spry, Words Dance, Up the Staircase Quarterly, The Adroit Journal, Cleaver Magazine, and other publications. She is also a playwright, having twice won the Blank Theatre Young Playwrights Festival.